


carve out my selfish heart

by girlinyellow9735



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlinyellow9735/pseuds/girlinyellow9735
Summary: Yes. God, yes. Take whatever you want. Because it’s you. I would die before I ever said no.Take whatever you want.I love you too.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	carve out my selfish heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hangthe_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangthe_stars/gifts).



Kenma wasn’t sure how years, years of longing, an aching in his chest, had turned into this.

Actually, he thought dazedly, that wasn’t true. He was painfully aware.

It was the end of the season, a party at Kai’s house, and it ended like any volleyball event normally ended. The lights were low, everyone was giggling, the smell of testosterone, junk food, sweat, and filling the air. Everyone was crowded in his basement as the hours ticked on, and Kenma normally hated this sort of thing, but these were his teammates, and he was giddy on victory. 

Everyone was smiling, laughing, clapping Kenma on the back with pride, and there was Kuroo. Always Kuroo, the shining center of attention, beaming and crowing as everyone crowded around him, and for some reason, his electric gaze always catching Kenma’s, no matter how many first-years annoyed him, urging him to enjoy the party with them, play foosball, watch a movie, whatever. Kenma, as always, stood off to the side, watching patiently, a happy feeling in his chest, right next to the hole that had been there since the eighth grade (when he realized Kuroo was the cause of it.) But he wasn’t going to think about that, the heavy air for some reason blocking out the sad things. Kuroo, as always, pushed through the crowd to wrap an arm around Kenma, grinning, and Kenma, as always, ignored the pang in his chest, just too grateful to have Kuroo’s comforting touch that had always been there.

For a little context: Kenma was a logical person, never one to beat around the bush, or pretend something was when it wasn’t, if there was no reason. So Kenma had known for years that he was probably in love with Kuroo. He had also decided years ago that it since it was painfully obvious Kuroo was never going to return his affections in the way he so deeply desired, it would be best if he kept those to himself. If he kept the nights spent awake thinking about him to himself. If he kept the stupid, pointless poetry that filled his notebooks to himself. If he kept the way his eyes always wondered in the locker rooms with Kuroo to himself. If he kept the pit in his stomach whenever Kuroo kissed a girl to himself. At least, until they ate him away, corroded his very essence with their poisonous strength. But at the very least, this way, he wouldn’t be the cause of pushing Kuroo away. These feelings were so selfish, he knew, and it would never be fair to push them onto Kuroo. 

For a little more context: Girls were very interested in Kuroo, obviously, but there were also girls interested in Kenma for a reason he couldn’t quite name. (Who in their right mind, after all, would be interested in him?) Especially his girl friends, although they were few. He always turned to Kuroo for help on how to turn them down, because it was such an uncomfortable feeling. A friend falling in love with you. And he always was mad at those girls, mad at being so selfish as to sacrifice their friendship. Until, of course, he found himself in the same situation, and the idea that he would bring anything close to the level of uncomfort those girls brought him to Kuroo- no. Just. No.

Plus, he couldn’t risk losing him. Their friendship was too precious to risk losing. This, this happy feeling in his chest, the smile on his lips only Kuroo could bring, his arm across his shoulders. Wasn’t worth losing. Just to get rid of the hole that had become his heart.

Makes sense, right?

But something about that night was different. Neither of them had any alcohol in their system, although it lingered in a few of their teammate’s hands, but they were intoxicated nonetheless, giddy teenagers, not immune to the feeling of courage that filled the air. Kenma, was not immune to that feeling. And so, as the night dragged on, the windows growing darker, everyone else’s voice faded to the background, as Kenma stayed nestled to Kuroo’s side, not hearing what he was laughing about, just reveling in their friendship. Something happened, on that couch, when the cushions shifted and he fell a little too close, and neither of them made a move away.  
Kuroo felt like he was floating, and he could see it in Kenma’s eyes, which were normally flitting around, so sharp, now slightly glazed and warmer than usual. So he leaned forward, fingers like tiny dancers on Kenma’s back, and muttered a totally normal sentence.

“Wanna go home?”

Totally normal, for two high school best friends who routinely spent the night at his house. But Kenma had light in his veins- something about that night- and he agreed, and the next thing he knew, he was alone in Kuroo’s house with Kuroo, pressed up against his bedroom wall, right next to the video game console, his shirt being pulled up, hot lips against his, a knee between his crotch.

He had waited years for this, and it was worth every second, to feel fire against his skin, to see Kuroo’s closed eyes centimeters from his in the dim lighting, to feel his fingers crawling up his stomach, so confident, so sure, moving as if Kenma was one of his many girlfriends. Kenma had witnessed Kuroo kissing other girls, but something naive in the back of his foggy mind, as he kissed Kuroo back with an experienced tongue despite being remarkably inexperienced, told him this was different. Maybe- no, it wasn’t just a maybe anymore. Kuroo, really, loved him back, and if the passion he was kissing him with, hands on his chest, was anything to go by, he loved him with the same passion Kenma loved him with.

The entire situation was surreal, as it always was with Kuroo, but this was. Different.

Kuroo pulled him onto the bed, guiding Kenma by the hand, expression impossible to read in the dark, kicking the sheets aside, and didn’t stop kissing him for a moment as he pulled him into his lap. Kenma’s hands hung limply at his side until he remembered this was Kuroo, goddamn Kuroo, with warm eyes and skin like galaxies underneath his touch, and he could finally touch him.

Finally.

Finally.

He had waited long enough, years just to touch Kuroo guiltfree, so he let his hands move up, grabbing Kuroo’s shoulders without fear, nothing except their synced up, breathy little gasps filling the room, and the sight of Kuroo so vulnerable was something he would treasure for the rest of his life. He was making memories he already knew he would keep for the rest of his life.

It did feel like everything was moving in slow motion, and it felt like there was music in the background, and it felt like he was floating, as Kuroo’s fingers moved for Kenma’s belt, freezing once they found it, eyes wide and asking and kind, and there was nothing in heaven or hell that could’ve stopped him from nodding.  
Yes. God yes. Take whatever you want. Because it’s you. I would die before I ever said no.

Take whatever you want.

I love you too.

And after, that was it. There was nowhere else to go. He had finally, finally, seen every inch of Kuroo, and he had seen every inch of Kenma, and they were both just so vulnerable and young and small, laying on that bed, sweat glistening like stars. There was nothing stopping Kenma from moving closer, wriggling his tired, ecstatic body closer, his mind hazy, nuzzling his face up against Kuroo’s bare chest, as both of them dipped out of consciousness, fingers tangled together, curled up as if they had had to wait years for it to happen. Kuroo, as he tucked his chin over Kenma’s head, knew he could trace his pinky down Kenma’s nose if it wasn’t smushed up against his chest. Neither of them knew what time it was.

So, yes, Kenma was painfully aware of all of those details. He was painfully aware of the way Kuroo’s hair looked all mussed up from sex, the way his lips tasted like sharpness, the way his skin was soft resting against his. 

And Kuroo, too, was painfully aware of the way Kenma cuddled closer, surprisingly clingy after such an intimate event. The way he kissed him each time as if he was dying, as if it was more than a kiss, as if he needed him to survive. 

In the morning, waking up slowly as if he was coming out of a coma, he was painfully aware of the tiny whimper that left Kenma’s lips as Kuroo stood up, curling closer upon himself, even in his sleep, missing the loss of the warmth. Kuroo was painfully aware of the strange new feeling in his chest as he stood there in the morning light, watching Kenma sleep, until he decided to tug on a t-shirt and shorts, and walked to his gaming setup, unsure what else to do, quietly starting up his PC, listening every couple of minutes for sounds of breathing, turning around when he couldn’t hear them, making sure Kenma is still breathing. The way Kenma’s hair fell in his face, his face so peaceful as he slept- it hurt, and it made his head feel like too-loud static. So he turned back around.

Kenma had dealt with these emotions for years, but it was if Kuroo was just experiencing them for the first time. Although last night, Kuroo obviously was more experienced, now, he felt lost. This was the part he couldn’t handle, for some reason. Kenma was ancient, eyes wise, used to the feeling in his chest, but Kuroo was like a newborn baby. There was nothing he could say.

When Kenma finally woke up, his fingers curled instinctively, and he opened his eyes hesitantly, bothered by the loss of Kuroo’s warmth, but content to lay there for a moment longer, in his sheets, breathing in his scent. Somebody had wrapped the blanket around him, keeping him from shivering away, and the thought that it was Kuroo made his stomach flutter. 

Well. He snapped his eyes open, narrowing open when he didn’t see Kuroo’s next to his. Take a deep breath, Kenma, he exhaustedly chided himself. You don’t have to worry about that. The way he was kissing you last night… there’s no way he doesn’t love you back, right?

God.

Last night.

Deciding he couldn’t get back to sleep, and he didn’t want to anyway, he slowly pulled himself up in the bed, sighing silently when he saw Kuroo, facing the other direction, tapping feverishly on the keyboard. He couldn’t see his expression, but he spent a minute watching him anyway, just content to look at him in the morning light, to see the gentle scratches on the back of his neck, to not feel so goddamn guilty for loving him. 

Eventually, he decided to kick his legs out of bed, and stand up, moving silently, like a cat. Yawning, he bent over, until he found one of Kuroo’s big t-shirts, and threw it over himself, inhaling the scent. With heavy eyes, he glanced around his feet, grabbing a hair tie and half-tying his hair up, and then he couldn’t help himself much longer before quietly padding over to where Kuroo was sitting, already missing the physical touch, and wrap his arms lazily around his neck, burying his head in Kuroo’s hair.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice muffled, but to his surprise, Kuroo flinched as if he had been hit. Pulling his head out of a frozen Kenma’s arms, he positioned his swivel chair so he was facing Kenma, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he stared straight at the marks on his neck, as if that was much better, his expression unreadable.  
“Um-” Kenma started, but he was interrupted.

“Do you need me to drive you home?” Kuroo said briskly, as if they were back in eighth grade, carpooling or some shit. It was Kenma’s turn to flinch as if he had been hit, his hands frozen. He tried to meet his gaze, but he refused.

“Um- I mean- I guess, if you need me to leave,” Kenma stuttered, flabbergasted. It felt as if he had been hit in the face, and his mind was still a little too foggy to understand what was going on. Kuroo nodded briskly and then stood up, staring as if he had just seen the t-shirt Kenma was wearing. 

“You should probably get dressed,” he pointed, and then moved past Kenma, knocking his shoulder as he did so. Kenma instinctively moved away, clutching his shoulder, staring at Kuroo with wide eyes, as he tried to find his clothes amongst the piles of laundry, and failed. When he stood back up, he finally forced himself to look Kenma in the eyes. His eyes were wide, visibly nervous, and confused, and Kuroo had to look away, swallowing, and then biting his lip.

“Wh-what’s going on, Kuroo?” Kenma asked, his voice sounding remarkably young, and he forced himself not to focus on pretty his bleached hair looked, hanging down by his jawline, or how his lips were slightly red, or the tiny purple bruise sticking out from his collar.

“You’re smart, Kenma,” Kuroo said softly, not wanting to sound cruel, and also not wanting to explain anything. He couldn’t even rationalize this stupid behavior to himself, he had no intentions on explaining it to Kenma. Even if he could. “I think you can figure it out.”

“Well, obviously not,” Kenma snapped, ignoring the tremor in his hands or the way Kuroo’s gaze snapped up.

“We can’t,” Kuroo’s voice broke, and he sighed, “we can’t. What are we even doing?”

“I-”

“We can’t do this. You’re Kenma, Kenma, my best friend. You’re on the volleyball team. You’re my underclassmen,” he said softly, as if he was speaking to a lost puppy, not Kenma with growing rage and betrayal in those golden eyes.

There were a million things Kenma wanted to do. He wanted to scream, kick, punch, cry, sob, scoff. He wanted to yell ‘you’ve dated three girls on the other volleyball team!’ or ‘underclassmen, only by a year and three months!’ It felt like the ground was sinking out from underneath his feet, but he forced his legs to stay upright.  
“I said I loved you,” he settled on, pointing a shaking, accusatory finger, referring to last night, deep in the dark, curled up in his chest, hands gently playing with his hair, “and you said it back.” You bastard. “Kuroo.” I believed you. “Kuroo.” Please.

The pause that followed was physically painful, although Kenma wasn’t sure if it was for both of them. God, he was so sick of the pain. Why did Kuroo, beautiful Kuroo, always bring him pain?

Could it have nothing to do with Kenma, after all?

“I’m really sorry, Kenma,” Kuroo whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, deciding the heavy feeling in his chest was guilt, and it threatened to swallow him if he even dared look in Kenmas eyes, or try to analyze the pain in his voice. He stared at the carpet.

“So, what? Was this just a one night stand?” Kenma mutters, eyes wide and pleading, practically handing Kuroo one last way to make up, one last way out. Kuroo ust shrugged, throwing it in his face. A one-night stand with his- best friend?

“I- I guess so?”

That was it. The last straw for Kenma, and it was like he could feel the entire weight crushing him down. The weight of the world, the weight of years of open-ended not-knowing, the weight of years of carrying this stupid weight alone. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. Really, the only option left.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, and then whipped around, ignoring his lack of clothes or shoes, and slammed the bedroom door open, almost sprinting down the hallway, ignroing Kuroo’s calls.

“Wait! Come back! Kenma, how are you even going to get-” Kuroo’s hand wrapped around his wrist before he made it out of the living room and Kenma physically recoiled. For the first time in his life, Kuroo’s touch didn’t bring bittersweet, or pure warmth. It just hurt. 

“Get your fucking hands off of me,” he spat, slapping his hand away before cradling his own hands to his chest. “I can get my own ride home.”

What an empty threat, he thought bitterly, but he still hoped it hurt, even if he didn’t actually turn around to see Kuroo’s face. 

There were no more words exchanged, and even though Kenma was the one who slammed the front door, it made him flinch as he stalked down the sidewalk, heading nowhere in particular.

‘I’m not stupid, right?’ Kenma thought to himself, wrapping his arms around himself as he walked, his feet bare against the cold morning sidewalk, practically speedwalking through the quiet suburban neighborhood. ‘The way he was kissing me last night- god, I really thought he wanted me-’ without thinking, he realized the shaking in his shoulders and the hot stuff flowing down his face was him crying. 

He tried to stifle his own sobs as he walked, shoving his knuckles in his mouth, but it only made it worse, the only noise on the street beside a faint birdsong being his breathy little gasps. That hole in his chest had finally been filled last night, but now it was breaking apart, and that was a million times worse. He had no plan, except to run far, far away from Kuroo, sick of doing the opposite. He had held this pain for years, for goddamn years, he thought, shaking with anger, only for Kuroo to act as if it was nothing. As if he was nothing. As if he was just another hookup. 

“Fuck!” Kenma screamed, his voice raw and ragged, startling himself and making that gentle birdsong stop. He looked around hesitantly, the tears still flowing down, as if just realizing he was in the neighborhood, right next to a stop sign. He refused to look over his shoulder. He’d been walking for what, ten minutes, and Kuroo had not. He hadn’t even tried to stop Kenma from leaving.

Kenma stopped crying at that realization, and suddenly he felt so cold, like he was going to freeze, so he knelt down against the white concrete, next to some dewy grass, still wearing nothing except that stupid giant t-shirt. He didn’t even have his phone on him, but he would rather die than go back to Kuroo’s and get it. He could feel himself shaking with anger and sorrow, his fingers twitching, missing Kuroo’s touch, even though they had only had it for one night. They’d grown spoiled.  
The simple truth was, Kenma had finally relieved how much he had been hurting, and Kuroo didn’t give a damn. What had been a breakthrough in years of pent-up emotion and longing for Kenma had been nothing but another one-night stand for Kuroo. And, Kenma thought dazedly, clutching his knees to his chest, he was still stupidly in love with him. He buried his head in between his bare knees, his body shaking. He didn’t even know how to calm himself down, how pathetic was that? For the past several years, his only anxiety medication had been Kuroo. Kuroo knew how to calm him down, even when Kenma wouldn’t tell him that the reason of his panic attack was actually him. But this was different. 

“He didn’t mean it,” Kenma mumbled, but the words sounded empty even to his own ears. Because no, he meant those words, those hurtful, stupid words that echoed in Kenma’s head, diminishing his value down to nothing where he sat. Because yes, he didn’t mean it when he said he loved Kenma. “He probably says that to all the girls.”

There was clearly something very wrong with the way Kenma’s brain had been re-wired last night, because on that cold sidewalk next to the road, three blocks away from Kuroo’s house and three blocks away from his own, he stretched out, face up, palms resting next to his head, legs stretched out. To anybody walking by, this early in the morning, it might look like Kenma was dead, and to be honest, he felt it. He stared up at the sky, so brilliantly blue and growing brighter by the second, and felt completely still except for the steady movement of his chest. Stupid chest, he cursed halfheartedly. They really couldn’t read the room, and not for the first time in his life, they wished they would. Just. Stop.

Was this it? All those years of suspense and pain, all for this? For Kuroo to use him just like anyone else? Was that all he was to Kuroo? Not a friend, not a lover, just. Someone else. The truth was, he thought numbly as he began to lose feeling in his fingertips, Kuroo had just wanted to kiss someone. Kiss anyone. A warm body in his bed. That’s it, and Kenma, stupid Kenma, had thought it was so much more. He had greatly overestimated his own value.

“I hate you,” he whispered, and the words would’ve sounded much more convincing if he knew who they were aimed at- himself, for being this stupid and naive and desperate, or Kuroo, for hurting him like this. 

Do I regret it, he asked himself, because why not- might as well explore every inch of this, even if it hurts. The simple answer: yes. He wished he could go back to the way things were 24 hours ago, with Kuroo around his shoulder, laughing, and their friendship closer than anything, despite the gnawing hole in his chest. It was better than this, this raw, devastating pain that hit him in the head, the gut, the chest. He could almost feel blood in the back of his chest when he even thought about it. But, he thought miserably, at least now he knew. At least now he knew two things. 

First, at least he knew where he stood, what he was worth to Kuroo. It was just. It was just a lot worse than his worst case scenario. And good god, Kenma had come up with lots of worst case scenarios, spent hours thinking about it, just to hurt himself, letting his anxiety run rampant. And yes, he had never imagined that he was worth so little to his best friend. Just a warm body to spend a night with and then discard. But at least now he knew.

Second, unfortunately, as much as it hurt to admit, at least he knew what he tasted like now, lips against his. At least he knew what it was like to think Kuroo loved him back, even for a second, to hear those words whispered in his ear- “I love you too, Kozume…” Even thinking about it made him squeeze his eyes shut, and tears rolled down his face, quietly splashing on the concrete next to his face. At least he knew what Kuroo’s hands felt like running down his back. At least he knew what it felt like to climb out of bed and rest his head on Kuroo’s head. At least he knew what it was like to fall asleep with his face pressed against Kuroo’s chest.  
His body felt like a goddamn warzone, he noted numbly. There was the obvious, of course. His back was sore from laying on the concrete. His chest hurt from crying. The bruises on his neck, on his back, on his thigh throbbed dully. Then. Obviously. He felt like some sadistic serial killer had grabbed a jack-o-lantern carving set and set to work on his chest, shredding every piece of flesh and hollowing him out. The wreckage that had once been his heart was so painful it left him gasping for air just thinking about it. 

Jesus, I’m dramatic, he thought to himself, but the thought, even aimed at himself was as empty as him.  
In fact, he rationalized slowly with himself, if he felt so hollow, that would logically mean there was nowhere else to feel pain. No heart left to break, no soul left to ache. It had happened. It sucked- it sucked so much- but it had still happened- and there was nothing to do about it. Was it fair? Was it right? There was no point in thinking about it, so Kenma slowly collected himself, pulling his legs and arms into a sitting position, and used the stop sign to heave himself to his feet, bare toes curling at the sudden feeling of standing up. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, but at least his limbs still functioned, so he straightened himself up. There was really no option left to make, so there was no point in sitting there. He might as well get this over with. 

Even though he was literally just wearing a giant t-shirt, he couldn’t very well go back to Kuroo’s house and grab his stuff, his clothes, his phone. The idea almost made him retch, so he shook it away, and let a completely calm mask slip over his face. He could either sit here or go home. Might as well go home.  
The walk home felt like a million miles, the concrete sidewalk cutting into the soles of his feet as he passed block after block, and if he glanced down, he would’ve seen tiny little cuts, blood blossoming and sticking on pale skin. If he glanced up, he would’ve seen the sun slowly rising, turning that bright blue sky even brighter, a few puffy clouds creating a wonderlandish-sky that clearly, couldn’t read the room. If he looked to his left as he walked, he would’ve seen countless white picket fences and identical suburban houses, a few children playing in a few yards, sparing him nothing but a passing, confused glance. If he looked to his right, he would’ve seen nothing but the sprawling neighborhood road that followed him, leading him home.

If he’d glanced back, he would’ve probably never been able to tear his gaze away. He would’ve seen nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nobody chasing after him, calling his name, nothing.

He just kept walking until he found his house, and as he stood in front of the front door he was shocked with how unfamiliar everything was. The place was quiet, his parents already at work, and even though he had memorized every inch of this home, it wasn’t right. He knew those steps, but where was Kuroo sitting next to him, toes skimming the mulch from when their legs were too tiny? He knew that driveway, every crack, but where was Kuroo, sprawled out, soaking wet from the sprinkler? He knew that lawn, every blade of grass and lump, but where was Kuroo, raking up leaf piles to jump in, despite Kenma’s complaining? 

His thoughts were too heavy, as he kicked up a pot, grabbed the spare key, and slipped in. It was too quiet there, and the thoughts continued. He knew that counter, that kitchen, but where was Kuroo, defiantly sitting on the counter and yelling chemistry facts as they tried to do their homework? He knew that couch, but where was Kuroo, simultaneously texting girls and sticking his feet in Kenma’s face as he tried to play one of his games? He knew that bathroom, but where was Kuroo, leaning over the counter, grinning wildly as he (un)successfully tried to dye Kenma’s hair? 

Where was-

Where was Kuroo?

Even home wasn't home without him. 

So where was he?

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't think I will write a sequel chapter.   
> I'm not sure how to, with who I am right now.  
> Maybe I'll add more if I figure out how to. I'm not sure how to write a happy love ending anymore. I know this, though. So I wrote it.
> 
> (That was deep, holy shit, sorry guys.)


End file.
